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Allison P. Coudert
Some readers of this essay will be old enough to remember the Shmoo, the
cartoon character created by Al Capp. But you may not know that it morphed
into a popular toy in the 1940s, which was basically a large plastic balloon
in the shape of a bowling pin with a weight in the bottom.1 Whenever you
punched it, it always popped right back up. That is my vision of my friend
Dick Popkin in the last, unbelievably productive years of his life: emphysema,
pneumonia, failing eyesight all things that would fell a lesser man could not
keep him down. In 2000, Dick was invited by David Ruderman, the Director
of the Institute of Advanced Judaic Studies at the University of Pennsylvania,
to the final conference culminating a year of seminars devoted to a subject
that Dick had helped pioneer, Christian Hebraism and the relation between
Christians and Jews in the early modern period. In the months preceding the
conference it was nip and tuck whether he would be up to making the trip
from Los Angeles to Philadelphia. But with his new motto, have oxygen,
will travel, he and his wife Julie arrived in style. And after a day of intense
conferencing, without a note or moment of hesitation Dick summed up what
had been said by the conferees and suggested areas for further research. It
was just one more of Dicks stunning virtuosic performances.
I met Dick at the Clark Library in 1984, where I worked up the courage
over several days to give him offprints of two articles. At that point I had no
reason to think that Dick would be any different from most accomplished academics, somewhat loathe to take handouts from unknown scholars, especially
Shmoon memorabilia generated 25 million dollars in the 1948 (about 300 million
in 2003 terms). Denis Kitchen apparently has the largest collection of Shmoon memorabilia in the world: I collected this stuff myself and its across the board. It includes
ashtrays, birthday cars, boys belts, womens brooch pins, charm bracelets, drinking
glasses, earmuffs, Grape Nuts cereal, household deodorizers, puzzles, glass milk bottles, songs and large plush Shmoo dolls. One of the weirdest ones is fishing lures.
(http://forum.newsarama.com/archive/index.php/t-1114.html).
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Chapter 2
ones working on esoteric subjects like the Kabbalah and witchcraft. But, as I
quickly learned, Dicks skeptical and inquisitive bent inclined him to question
prevailing wisdom and Whiggish interpretations when it came to understanding the past. Like two other great scholars of the twentieth century, Gershom
Scholem and Frances Yates, he saw himself as something of an archeologist,
digging deep in what he has described as the marvelous and varied intellectual world or swamp which lies beneath our present thinking to ferret
out little known figures, whether they be neglected persons from the past or
unrecognized scholars of the present. It was at the margins, in the writings of
ignored and neglected figures, that Dick found ideas now seen to be central
to our understanding of the transition from the early modern to the modern
world. His cri de coeur from the very beginning was that philosophy has a history; it was not born fully formed like Athena from Zeuss or any great philosphers head. It cannot be understood unless contextualized, and once this is
done our view of the past is radically changed. Good science did not develop
when bad religion, bad magic, or bad metaphysics disappeared. Good science
was the product of a multitude of events and motivations among which were
the recovery of Greek and Roman skeptical texts during the Renaissance,
strands of esoteric kabbalistic, hermetic, and neoplatonic thought, millenarianism, and even messianism, all of which combined to produce a heady brew
that placed man at the center of the universe. Religion played an essential
role in this transformation. From the lowly worm postulated by Luther and
Calvin, who could do nothing to mollify an angry God or contribute to his
own salvation, mankind took on the pivotal role of restoring the world to its
prelapsarian perfection; and science was the means to this end. By focusing
on the margins, or at least by bringing the margins into the story, Dick has
recovered large chunks of history lost to view, submerged in the swamp, just
waiting to be excavated. And this led him to a number of startling and remarkable discoveries. Let me list five of them: (1) Spinozas possible connection
with the Quakers; (2) Cardinal Ximenes learning Aramaic so he could speak
to Jesus; (3) two small treatises by Abraham Cohen Herrera on method that
anticipated Descartess discussion of clear and distinct ideas; (4) Isaac de Pintos dinner with David Hume; and (5) Columbuss connection with Jews and
even the possibility of his Jewish ancestry. This last point was developed by
Dick in several lectures, one of which he gave at Arizona State University in
1988 with the irresistible title that only he would have dreamed up, Columbus and Corned Beef.
These and many more equally revolutionary discoveries stemmed from
Dicks initial interest in skepticism, the work for which he is undoubtedly most
famous. It seems ludicrous now to think that before Dick, no major historian
of philosophy was aware that there was a skeptical crisis in early modern
Europe or cognizant of the role it played in shaping modern philosophy.
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Furthermore, no one before Dick was aware of the role that Jewish converts
to Christianity and Marranos like La Peyrre played in this skeptical crisis,
the French Renaissance, Napoleons Jewish policy, the emancipation of the
Jews, and the assault on revealed religion. Not content with simply tracing the
contours of skepticism from the Renaissance onwards, Dick recognized that
in addition to Marranos there were whole groups of philosophers, theologians,
and scientists left out of the picture, figures like the Cambridge Platonists and
Comenius, those described by Charles Webster as the spiritual brotherhood
but whom Dick referred to as the Third Force in early modern history. These
thinkers were united in their quest to overcome the skeptical crisis ensuing from the rediscovery of classical texts and the bitter sectarian conflicts
accompanying the Reformation and Counter-Reformation. The interpretation
of the Bible was central to their worldview, and they were deeply influenced
by various currents of esoteric and mystical thought. They were united in their
deeply held religious convictions, their view of the millennium as imminent,
and of science as a crucial tool in hastening its advent. From this Dick came
to the conclusion that Christian millenarianism and Jewish messianism were
potent creative forces in seventeenth century thought, an idea that has been
borne out by subsequent scholars. Henry More, Isaac Newton, William Law,
William Whiston, Andrew Michael Ramsey, Hartley, Priestley, Swedenborg,
and even Balfour were all part of this Third Force, whose historical influence only began to be appreciated and more fully investigated as a result of
Dicks prodding.2 Our understanding of early modern philosophy, theology,
science, and history has changed radically as a result of Dicks many scholarly
endeavors. He has made it clear for all to see how central religion was in the
transition from the early modern to the modern world. One of his students
quotes him as saying that the problems of the world are not really political,
economic, or social; they are religious. To change the world you must change
the hearts of human beings.3 After September 11, 2001 this statement seems
uncannily on the mark. So, in addition to Dicks role as incomparable scholar,
convener of conferences exceptional, and generous friend and mentor, we can
add that of prophet and philosopher in his own right.
When discussing the Third Force I should also mention the Fourth Force,
namely James Force. I recall him driving up to a Clark Conference in his 1960
Oldsmobile convertible and coining the term Popkinettes to describe people like us
who were so devoted to and influenced by Dick.
3
Richard H. Popkin, Intellectual autobiography: warts and all, The Sceptical
Mode in Modern Philosophy: Essays in Honor of Richard H. Popkin, eds. Richard A.
Watson and James E. Force (Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff, 1988), 146.
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Chapter 2
Scholem was much more interested in what he called the failures of history
than in its so-called successes. As he said:
If I were called upon to teach, I would try to show that Jewish history has
been a struggle over great ideas and the question is to what extent we should
be influenced by the degree of success achieved in that struggle .At the
same time, I would consider with my pupils the failures of history, matters
having to do with violence, cruelty and hypocrisy.5
David Biale describes this orientation of Scholems work as counter-history, which does not revise history so much as suggest that the vital forces
which propel history forward lie in a secret tradition beneath the surface of
mainstream or establishment history.6
4
Cited in David Biale, Gershom Scholem: Kabbalah and Counter-History
(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1979), 210211.
5
Ibid., 108.
6
Ibid., 1112: Counter-history [is] the belief that the true history lies in a subterranean tradition that must be brought to light. Counter-history is a type of revisionist
historiography, but where the revisionist proposes a new theory or finds new facts, the
counter-historian transvalues old ones. He does not deny that his predecessors interpretation of history is correct but he rejects the completeness of that interpretation:
he affirms the existence of a mainstream or establishment history; but believes
that the vital forces lies in a secret tradition.
19
Yates shared this same conviction that true history was subterranean. Like
Popkin and Scholem, she saw herself as an archeologist, whose excavations
among the ruins of the past revealed the truth that lay beneath what she
described as superficial history. As she writes in The Rosicrucian Enlightenment:
One way of looking at the explorations of this book is to see them as having uncovered a lost period of European history. Like archeologists digging
down through layers, we have found under the superficial history of the
early seventeenth century, just before the outbreak of the Thirty Years War,
a whole culture, a whole civilization, lost to view, and not the less important
because of such short duration.
Yates pursued the theme of lost history throughout all her work. She
describes her quest in poignant terms in her great book The French Academies of the Sixteenth Century:
history as it actually occurs is not quite the whole of history, for it leaves
out of account the hopes which never materialized, the attempts to prevent
the outbreak of wars, the futile efforts to solve differences by conciliatory
methods. Hopes such as these are as much a part of history as the terrible
events which falsify them, and in trying to assess the influence of their times
upon idealists and lovers of peaceful activities such as our poets and academicians the hopes are perhaps as important as the events.7
Like Yates and Scholem, Popkin turned to what was deemed irrational by
many scholars in constructing his own counter-history. I do not use the term
irrational in the sense of unreasonable but to describe intuitive and essentially religious forms of cognition rather than those based on empiricism or
deduction which are expressed in symbolic images rather than logical propositions. Scholem was convinced that myth and religion were more important
sources of human creativity than reason alone: Reason is a great instrument
of destruction. For construction, something beyond it is required . I believe
that morality as a constructive force is impossible without religion, without
some power beyond pure reason.8 As Biale points out, however, Scholem
did not glorify irrationalism, being well aware of its destructive potential:
Scholem believes in the rational regulation of irrationalism, and in his historiography he strives for a rational account of the history of irrationalism.9 I
think the same can be said of Frances Yates and Dick Popkin.
Frances A. Yates, The French Academies of the Sixteenth Century (London:
The Warburg Institute, 1947), ch. 10.
8
Biale, Gershom Scholem, 115.
9
Ibid.
7
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Chapter 2
For some brief but perceptive remarks on Scholems reaction against, yet indebtedness to, German Romanticism, see Arnaldo Momigliano, Essays on Ancient and
Modern Judaism, ed. Silvia Berti, trans. Maura Masella-Gayley (Chicago, IL: Chicago
University Press, 1994), 194196.
11
Biale describes Scholems rejection of bourgeois liberalism and the rationalism
of nineteenth century Germany historiography. Scholem is, he says, unquestionably
the product of the romantic revision of the Wissenschaft des Judenthums, which took
place in Central and Eastern Europe in the first decades of the twentieth century
(35). For the effect of Germanys defeat in World War I on German historians and the
concept of objectivity and rationalism, see G.G. Iggers, The Dissolution of German
Historicism, in Ideas in History: Essays in Honor of Louis Gottschalk by his Former
Students, ed. Richard Heer (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1965).
12
Popkin, Intellectual autobiography, 147.
10
21
In this same essay Popkin described himself as equally alienated from the irreligion of his parents and traditional Judaism. Somewhat ironically, skepticism
came to his rescue by allowing him to connect with an element from the Jewish
past that had been marginalized and denigrated, namely the Marranos. He
describes the excitement and personal satisfaction with which he discovered
this aspect Jewish history:
From Grayzel to Cecil Roth to more scholarly works, I plunged into the
world of the Marranos, and literally felt myself growing roots that connected me to this tradition of secret Jews, forced converts, who had functioned in an alien world, always threatened by it. I saw the conception of
the Marrano, outwardly conforming to the culture around him but internally guarding the true faith, as most appealing. As I learned that Santa
Teresa, San Juan de la Cruz, some of the early Jesuit mystics, were all from
forced convert families, I felt an overpowering need to explore this world.
The mysticism of Santa Teresa and San Juan de la Cruz seemed closest to
what I had experienced.13
Through his scholarship, Scholem encountered a new kind of authentic Judaism. He was able to show that what had once been viewed as embarrassing
aberrations of Jewish culture, namely mysticism and messianism, were potent
Ibid., 117.
Paul Mendes-Flohr, ed., Gershom Scholem: The Man and his Work. SUNY Series
in Judaica: Hermeneutics, Mysticism, and Religion (Albany, NY: SUNY/The Israel
Academy of Sciences and Humanities, 1994), 40.
15
Ibid., 17.
13
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Chapter 2
Like Scholem, Popkin recognized that millenarianism and messianism were key
factors in early modern history. But while Scholem distinguished Jewish messianism from Christian on the grounds that Jewish messianists anticipated a cosmic rather than a personal redemption, Popkin studied and encouraged others
to study the ways in which Christians and Jewish millenarians and messianists
worked in tandem to prepare for a cosmic redemption and in so doing interacted in ways that helped to lay the foundation for enlightenment thought.
Like Scholem and Popkin, Yates early work linking occultism, Hermeticism, and science was also radical and went against the grain of contemporary wisdom in the history of science. To remind you just how radical her
approach was, I quote from George Sartons three volume Introduction to
the History of Science, which, although written between 1927 and 1947, was
Ibid., 24.
Popkin, Intellectual autobiography, 145. This appears in his article, The Religious
Background of 17th Century Philosophy, Journal of the History of Philosophy 25
(1987): 3550.
18
Popkin, Intellectual autobiography, 146.
16
17
23
19
George Sarton, Introduction to the History of Science, 3 vols. (Baltimore, MD:
Williams & Wilkins, 19271947), 1: 19.
20
Yates, Ideas and Ideals in the North European Renaissance (London: Routledge
& Kegan Paul, 1984), 313.
21
The fact that Yates was not a historian of science was held against her and the
many other scholars who crossed into the discipline from other fields. As Charles C.
Gillispie put it, The history of science is losing its grip on science, leaning heavily on
social history, and dabbling with shoddy scholarship. Cited in Allen G. Debus, Science and History: The Birth of a New Field, in Science, Pseudo-Science, and Utopianism in Early Modern Thought, ed. Stephen A. McKnight (Columbia, SC: University of
Missouri Press, 1992), 29. On this issue, see William J. Broad, History of Science Losing
Its Science, Science 207 (1980); Paul Wood, Recent Trends in the History of Science:
The Dehumanisation of History, British Society for the History of Science Newsletter
(September, 1980); Leonard G. Wilson, Medical History without Medicine, Journal
of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences 35 (1980); Ronald L. Numbers, The
History of American Medicine: A Field in Ferment, Reviews in American History 10
(1982): 245264.
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Chapter 2
What, one wonders, made Yates jump across accepted disciplinary boundaries
and study a subject namely magic and the occult that was conspicuously
not studied at the time precisely because it was deemed senseless and illogical?
As in the case of Scholem and Popkin, biography is useful here. Although
the unfortunately few fragments we have of Yates memoirs dont throw
direct light on this question, they do provide suggestive hints. For example,
they describe her unconventional education, which during her early years
occurred largely at home under the direction of her mother and sisters.
She considered this escape from regular education a marvellous good
fortune.22 When she eventually went to university it was as an external
student, which meant she had minimal contact with professors and other
students. Even as an internal student working on her M.A., she lived outside
of London and claims that I was largely left to my own devices.23 There was
thus something of the solitary maverick about Yates that conceivably made
her more independent-minded than most students and more willing to follow
her own insights.24
There are further hints in her autobiographical fragments that provide clues
to the unconventional direction Yates scholarship would take. Writing about
the death of her brother during a bayonet charge on October 8, 1915, she says
dramatically, The 19141918 war broke our family: as a teenager I lived among
the ruins.25 Literally and figuratively Yates did live among ruins, not only as a
teenager but for the remainder of her life, first as a young woman experiencing
a irreparable rupture in her own family and the ruin of pre-World War I culture
and later as a historian and Warburg scholar. It was, after all, the declared mission of the Warburg Institute to study and document the survival of the classical
tradition. Yates took this injunction to heart. As I have already mentioned, she
saw herself as an archeologist, whose excavations among the ruins of the past
revealed the truth that lay beneath superficial history.
There is another important respect in which Yates scholarship goes hand in
hand with Popkins and Scholems. I would argue that the most direct and lasting legacy of all three scholars has been two-fold: in helping to integrate Jewish
Studies into the wider field of Western history and in stimulating the new field
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